Hi guys, thanks again for all the reviews in the last chapter, I really appreciate them! Enjoy

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Chapter 13

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{Enochian Prophecies}

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Music drifted out from behind the heavy wooden doors to the grand ballroom. Sasha could just about feel the excitement in the air. Parties were not exactly common in the Dark Lord's home, but that didn't mean they were rare. Occasionally, there would be a get together of all the Death Eaters.

It was as much a social event as it was for business. The soirees were a means for information to be shared quickly and to be denied or backed up by the others. The idea was to accumulate as much, clear, factual knowledge as possible in the shortest space of time. It meant that it was easy to disregard false or pointless information and bring out those who were either untrustworthy or lazy. Everyone was kept on their toes.

Sasha stood in the darkened hall, watching the dim light seep out from behind the imperfections in the doors to the ballroom. The floor under his feet had narrow veins of light on its surface, stretching out towards him. An old grandfather clock ticked somewhere behind him, its incessant rhythm seeming louder in the darkness than usual.

His mask was in his hand. Upon arriving back into the mansion, Sasha had seen the mask waiting for him on a small cherry wood table with a note saying there was an event on in the ballroom. Sasha imagined Voldemort had put it there just in case he arrived as he couldn't have known for sure that Sasha would return to him tonight.

Seeing that most of the Death Eaters still did not know his identity, Sasha supposed he should put it on. He brought the mask up and felt it mould onto his face and fit securely on. He took a moment to check it and make sure that it was on fine.

The mask and he had a strained relationship. Sasha understood the necessity of wearing it but he hated everything about it. He hated the feeling of it on his skin and the sound of his voice when it was distorted by the hard material over his mouth. His voice sounded foreign to his ears when he spoke with it on. Again, it was meant to hide his identity but Sasha disliked it anyway.

Besides the discomfort, Sasha hated the look of it. Voldemort had designed it. It wasn't like a Death Eater's mask. It was just a blank surface that stretched around his face. There were no indents were the eyes should be, or a bump for the nose, no hole for the mouth either. Just a blank slate of a substance that was similar to black marble.

It had been charmed so that he could breathe and see through the thick material, but it didn't work both ways. To anyone he faced, it appeared as if they were staring at a black hole where his visage should be. With his hood up, as it generally was, even his hair wasn't visible, further adding to the effect. Sasha was man enough to admit that it even freaked him out sometimes.

With the mask on, Sasha was nothing. Not a person, a wizard, a follower. He was a faceless creature with no personality or beliefs, only a job to follow his master in all ways. There were whisperings among the ranks that he wasn't even a real person; some thought he might have been a golem or something artificial like that. Others believed he was a demon, summoned by Voldemort and trapped in a physical body now bound to do his bidding.

Only the Inner Circle knew that he was just some kid Voldemort picked up from the streets.

It didn't matter what he was, however, because with the mask on, he became a symbol. He was the Dark Lord's right hand. His wand. He became the perfect image of a servant; utterly devoted to a master that was willing to make the most of that power.

It was the role he played when the mask was on—even when he didn't feel it.

Sasha moved then, going over to the doors and pushing one open only enough for him to slip his body inside and shut it quietly behind him again. Although his entrance was by no means grand, as he walked through the ballroom, the Death Eaters became aware of his presence.

The idle chatter and conversations faded away. They all turned to stare. Underneath his mask, Sasha watched the different expressions on their faces as he moved confidently in a straight line to the throne at the end of the room. Voldemort sat upon it, eagerly awaiting Sasha's arrival.

In an unnecessary show of allegiance, Sasha bowed lowly at the waist as he arrived in front of his master. He counted a few beats until straightening before his master, expecting the Dark Lord to make the first move.

"I presume," Voldemort started, waving his hand airily, "That you would not do something as foolish as return without having completed your mission."

Having his eyes hidden behind the dark, dark mask, Voldemort could not have possibly seen Sasha's eyes narrow with resentment at the statement. He imagined the Dark Lord knew though; he was pretty sure Voldemort's taunting was an attempt to get a rise from him. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out why though.

Wordlessly, Sasha took out the Philosopher's Stone from his pocket. He held it in front of, but not over to, Voldemort. If the Dark Lord could play it cool, so could he.

Voldemort's eyes widened, his face showing an unguarded hunger that one rarely saw in public. Sasha watched dispassionately as the man sat forward in his chair and rose to his feet. He took a step forward. Sasha made no move to give it over to him.

"I presume," Sasha said quietly, so no one else would hear, "That you would not do something as foolish as mock the person who has granted you immortality."

Voldemort was no longer in the mood for games. "Give it to me." He commanded with a hiss. "You would dare withhold this from me?"

"You would dare doubt my abilities publicly?" Sasha challenged.

Voldemort looked ready to release a cold fury on Sasha. With barely a flick of his wrist, the Dark Lord could have him under a Crucio, writhing and screaming in front of everyone there. It would probably be deserved too. But he did not do that. "You have grown bold from your time in Hogwarts." He said instead, in a frosty tone.

And with that, it suddenly hit Sasha what he was doing. He was playing with fire—for little to no gain. He sighed, the fight going out of him with the realisation of how foolish he was being. He was tetchy today; still suffering from the after effects of the Expiscor Intentus. He needed to stop this; it would bring no good and it would just end with him in more pain than he already was.

He dropped his eyes and bowed his head ever so slightly. "Forgive me, my lord," He muttered, "I'm really not myself today."

Sasha relinquished his hold on the stone. "This is not mine to withhold from its true owner." He said as he watched Voldemort greedily clutch the stone in his hands. The man's eyes shone brilliantly, a sinister shade of red.

"Beautiful." The Dark Lord breathed to no one in particular.

Sasha took a step back, keeping his distance from his obsessed master. The stone glowed softly between the gaps of long, pale fingers. It pulsed with energy and magic and life and Sasha could almost hear its call if he concentrated hard enough.

It was not a soothing sound; it twanged of discord, like a melody played with a single wrong note. Sasha frowned as he felt his chest tighten with the thought that this stone wasn't right. Oh, it was the Philosopher's Stone for sure; there had been no changes done to it or traps added. It was nothing of that nature which upset him. Rather, it the stone itself that unsettled Sasha.

It felt wrong. It was a turbulent object, one that would disrupt the flow of the world—create an imbalance, so to speak.

Like you...

A strange and unfamiliar voice informed him within the depths of his mind. For half a second he felt insulted, but it was right, wasn't it? Hadn't the shadow in that dream told him as much? He was a bringer of chaos, like that stone. He was unnatural, abnormal, an abomination of some kind. He had to be; why else would his own people want to kill him?

But when had he started to think like that? It was strange; almost as if that meeting with the shadow man of his Expiscor Intentus induced vision had opened his mind. As if the words he spoke had triggered something within his brain that clicked in a very minor, but somehow significant way.

He hadn't even considered something as balanced or imbalanced before. The terms were something he barely ever even used himself anyway. And he had certainly never worried about the effects of himself or his actions on a grand scale—at least not one that hadn't involved him directly.

There was a sickening feeling within his stomach when he acknowledged to himself that he was changing. Sasha knew he was. He could feel it inside of him, moving around like a snake curling up to sleep or to spring into action. There was unease at this, discomfort, unhappiness, fear—mostly fear. Merlin, what the hell was he? What was he going to become? The shadow had told him not to ask questions. But why? What could be so bad? And how could he not?

Sasha felt as if he was barely even himself anymore.

"My loyal followers!" Voldemort's booming voice broke Sasha out of his thoughts, "We have all battled admirably. We have fought hard. Soon our ideals will be realised. Celebrate tonight for this is the night that marks the beginning of the End. Dumbledore and his minions will fall. The preparations are over, the war truly begins tomorrow. Remember this as you enjoy the night's festivities. We will be victorious!"

The Death Eater's cheered delightedly, the sound levels in the room increased until they exceeded their previous noise. The party resumed with a hearty ambiance and everyone seemed quite merry. It would probably continue well into the night.

Voldemort watched the scene before him, taking in the jubilant clinking of glasses and animated conversations for a few minutes.

Eventually, he had enough. "Come," Voldemort addressed Sasha, "Let us go somewhere less crowded; I must converse with you face to face."

Sasha nodded and followed Voldemort out of the room via a small side door. No one in the room seemed to notice their exit, excited about the news and heavily involved in whatever conversations they were having.

Lord and servant walked silently.

Sasha watched his master's form in front of him. The Dark Lord was practically glowing with mirth and Sasha was pleased he could elicit that sort of emotion in Voldemort. It made the man seem so different to the views of the public.

According to the masses, Voldemort was a real monster, a horror-story creature brought to life. Not that Sasha was all that surprised; he had seen the Dark Lord do a fair amount of horrific things to a fair amount of horrified people. But he wasn't all that bad... not really. Not completely. Well, barely.

And he had a lot of good qualities too; he was ambitious and powerful and intelligent and...A lot of other, admirable things Sasha couldn't quite think of at that precise moment. He knew for certainty they were there though. He'd probably never be seen rescuing a kitten from a tree but Sasha wasn't going to judge.

They reached the door to Voldemort's office.

The Dark Lord walked through and Sasha followed. He had expected to make his way over to the chair in front of the desk. He was going in that direction anyway, but was stopped by the sudden force of a surprisingly strong hand pushing his sternum so hard that he stumbled back into the wall by the door frame.

It was Sasha's natural instinct to tense up at the sudden assault. He did. But he resisted the urge to start attacking out of self defence. Instead he let Voldemort carry out whatever it was that he had in mind.

The hand that was not trying to crush his sternum into his spine reached up to his face. The fingers snaked around the edge of the mask and with a brutal tug, removed it from Sasha's face. Sasha didn't see where Voldemort threw the mask, but he heard it hit the carpet somewhere at the other side of the study.

He wouldn't dare to look where it might have gone. Sasha wasn't going to do anything while Voldemort was so close to him. He doubted he could tear his eyes away even if he wanted.

Sasha didn't know exactly what was going to happen, but he did know one thing; Voldemort was angry at him.

The Dark Lord moved in closer to Sasha, their bodies only inches from each other. The hand that had taken off his mask had slithered up to his neck by then and was squeezing warningly. Sasha stayed still, unsure of what to expect.

Voldemort shifted his body and moved in even closer.

"You will be punished for your behaviour back in the ballroom." He hissed, " Philosopher's Stone or not, you are my servant. You will act as I desire. I had suspected Hogwarts might be bad for you but I didn't think it would turn you stupid so quickly. If I have to beat intelligence back into you I will."

It wasn't easy to swallow nervously with Voldemort's hand so firm against his throat, but Sasha managed it. He had hoped that maybe the Dark Lord would overlook his slip since he had brought him the Philosopher's Stone, but apparently not. Voldemort was quite forgiving when they were in private, but in public Sasha was expected to act flawlessly.

Although no one had heard his slight defiance, he had still failed Voldemort. He supposed he deserved what was coming to him. He didn't know what he had been thinking though; why didn't he just gave his master the stone and shut him up? Challenging a Dark Lord was on the list of things sane people just didn't do.

Sasha really was out of sorts, it seemed.

There might be something that could lessen his punishment a little though...

Taking a chance, he pushed Voldemort away lightly with a hand to his chest. "I understand and I will accept it when it comes, but first, I have something else to present to you." He said.

Voldemort raised a brow.

It wasn't common for a person to ignore a Dark Lord's promise of pain. In fact, it was more likely that they would beg on their knees for mercy then brush the issue aside. Even Sasha, who had been by his side for years, would not usually do such a foolish thing as brush off an oath of punishment.

Voldemort's expression was hardly readable; just his usual stony blankness. Sasha saw a glimmer of curiosity though.

"Very well." Voldemort said eventually with a somewhat puzzled air to him.

Slowly, the Dark Lord backed away and walked over to his desk, sitting down behind it. He put the Philosopher's Stone on the desk in front of him and motioned for Sasha to elaborate.

"It's... powerful. I'm surprised you haven't already sensed it." He told the Dark Lord.

Voldemort's face tensed in consideration and concentration. "I suspect the stone is disrupting whatever it is that I am supposed to be sensing." He said eventually.

Sasha didn't know if that was true, but he was willing to bite his tongue. It wouldn't help him anyway and if he wanted to get out of trouble then he had better start acting more amicably. Voldemort was only going to take so much from him.

And for all Sasha knew, the Dark Lord could have been right; perhaps the Philosopher's Stone was responsible. Sasha was intensely aware of the wand in his pocket, but that was because it had been buzzing against his leg and sending chills down to the bone. It was an unpleasant feeling that had persistently annoyed him since he picked it up.

Rather than merely telling Voldemort of his find, Sasha reached into his pocket and pulled the wand out, presenting it to its master with both hands.

The wand sang joyfully at its reunion with its rightful owner. It yearned for Voldemort's touch and called to him urgently. Now that his job was finished, the wand completely rejected Sasha's presence. It made its displeasure known by creating such frigid chills that Sasha's fingers were numb in moments.

Voldemort stood up stiffly, surprised by what he saw in Sasha's hands. He seemed to disbelieve the sight. For a long time he merely stood and stared at it.

"It's not going to bite you." Sasha teased lightly as time dragged on.

He hoped to jolt Voldemort out of his daze so the man could finally take the wand from Sasha. The numbing sensation was not exactly a pleasant one and as more time went by, the wand seemed to become more and more agitated with the distance.

Eventually, mercifully, Voldemort reached forward and plucked the wand from his grasp. Sasha lowered his arms gratefully and watched the Dark Lord turn the yew around in his hands, seemingly amazed that he was even holding it.

"Where did you find this?" He asked, still studying it.

"Dumbledore's office. It wasn't heavily guarded; I broke into the drawer easily enough."

This caught Voldemort's attention, "And why were you in Dumbledore's office?" He asked, looking up.

"It was my escape point." He replied with a shrug.

The Dark Lord chuckled, "As little as I would like to admit it at this moment, your work was flawless. I could not have asked for a better result." Voldemort praised with an oddly genuine note in his voice as he ran his hand over the wand one last time.

Sasha nodded, happy to take the compliment after everything. "Thank you."

"You have impressed me with your performance." Voldemort continued, "I knew you would not fail but I did not think you would succeed quite so effortlessly."

Again, Sasha nodded. There had been times when he doubted himself, times when he was certain Dumbledore or the Order or his friends would sense something and would catch him out. But by the end, he hadn't the energy to worry. All he could do was follow the steps of his plan and have faith that they would work.

As much as Sasha was thrilled about the praise, it washed over him somewhat. Even as Voldemort spoke those rare, kind words, all he could think about was finding some way to hurry everything up. He needed to sleep. He was so tired.

"Now, sit." Voldemort said eventually as he returned to his own chair. "I wish to have a full knowledge of your escapades."

Sasha obeyed, his heart falling once he realised he wouldn't be returning to his bed just yet. It took a huge effort to avoid collapsing into the chair. He waited patiently for Voldemort to start talking. The Dark Lord did not do so immediately. When he did choose to speak, Sasha didn't hear the words he thought he would.

"You've been weakened." He observed.

There was a pause.

Sasha wasn't happy to tell Voldemort of his failures in the same breath as his successes, but he knew his master would learn the truth no matter how he felt.

"I read about a potion in the restricted section of the Hogwarts library. Rare, old... not something I had ever come across before. It was used centuries ago to identify magical beings and other such creatures. I thought maybe it would work on me. So I collected the ingredients, brewed the potion and consumed it. I was...the result left me in this weakened state."

Voldemort straightened suddenly, genuine anger and indignity flashing through his eyes "You're a fool!" He exclaimed, "You used the Expiscor Intentus?"

Sasha was ready to defend himself, he opened his mouth to retort when he realised what the Dark Lord had said.

The implications of Voldemort's words hit Sasha and caused anger to flair up in his stomach, "You knew about the Expiscor Intentus and you didn't tell me?" He accused, sitting higher and leaning forward, his features pinched in irritation.

"I didn't tell you," The Dark Lord replied, "because I knew you would do something stupid like try and use it! That potion is forbidden for a reason; it was used as a method for torture more than identification—it's dangerous. It could have killed you, were you aware of that?"

"Well, it didn't." Sasha countered hotly.

"No, it didn't," Voldemort agreed, "However, that was not a risk I was willing to take. I have not wasted the last four years training you so that you could throw it all away on something as trivial as a potion."

"Trivial?" Sasha breathed in shock and disbelief, "You would call discovering what I am to be 'trivial'?"

"Yes, I would. Your species is not of any importance to me. Gaining the knowledge you so seek does not change our plans in any way. Your peace of mind is none of my concern if the search for it endangers you."

Averting his eyes, Sasha worked on pushing his agitation down. Slowly, he unclenched his jaw. He knew his tetchiness was directly related to the extreme exhaustion he was feeling. It would not do to go starting fights because of it though. He needed to get a handle on himself. He had to somehow stop arguing with his master. He needed his bed more than ever.

As he tried to cool himself down, Voldemort studied Sasha.

He resumed speaking once he saw that Sasha would be more receptive to his words, "I cannot condone what you did; it was foolish, hasty and dangerous for your mission. I am disappointed that you would make such an adolescent decision. Nevertheless, you did and it is done. We cannot change that fact. We can only live with the result. In light of that, tell me then, what did you discover? What are you? I do hope it was worth it."

The subject had come up often when they spoke. What was Sasha? They hadn't known. They had debated and disproved many theories. Sasha had been through books and books on creatures with human-like attributes but none of them fit. The Expiscor Intentus had been the final attempt; the one thing that could change his ignorance into knowledge. Sasha wasn't happy to think that nothing had changed, not after the torture he had gone through.

He sighed. "I still don't know." Sasha said quietly, shifting his eyes to the side and away, "It failed. The Expiscor Intentus didn't work."

Voldemort clicked his tongue. "So even after all that, even surviving the pain, endangering your life and your mission, you have gained nothing? You learned nothing?"

With a shake of his head, Sasha denied the statement, "Not exactly," He said, "The potion itself didn't give me any answers but I was contacted by... one of my kind during the process." The phrase felt awkward on his tongue, but he supposed it was the correct one nonetheless.

"Oh?"

Sasha continued, "He said they would kill me."

He wondered how Voldemort would react to the statement. Sasha waited and watched his face. There was thoughtfulness written all over it. "Kill you. For what reason? What crimes have you committed against them?"

"None. Other than being born, breathing air, living."

"They would kill simply for this?"

Sasha nodded, "That's what he said."

Voldemort 'hummed', rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Are they powerful?"

"I don't know."

"Resourceful?"

Sasha shrugged.

"But we can say for certain at least, that they are hostile."

"I suppose we can."

"Well, if nothing else, we now have one more attribute to add to that list of yours."

Sasha huffed an amused breath. "Sure, if they don't kill me first, I suppose we can knock another few possibilities off the board."

He was glad Voldemort was taking the news well, but Sasha was amazed at the apparent lack of concern. But then, this was Voldemort, after all; the man believed he was a demi-god half the time anyway, and now, with the Philosopher's stone, there would probably be a lot less to worry about.

Eyeing the glowing red stone on the desk, Sasha wasn't sure though. Voldemort had claimed once that if he was to obtain the stone, he would give Sasha the Elixir of Life too, but Sasha had never actually thought they would get possession of it. And he wasn't even sure if he wanted immortality. Or rather, he wasn't sure he wanted immortality from the stone.

There was just something about it that made Sasha feel uneasy. Even by looking at it on the desk there was a slightest amount of queasiness in his stomach. He didn't even want to be in the same room as the thing, it was that distasteful to him.

Sasha looked away from the stone and looked up at Voldemort. "Sorry, what?" He asked, realising that the Dark Lord had said something and was looking at him expectantly.

Voldemort looked mildly agitated. "I asked you how you think we might counter these creatures; you do, after all, have more information on them than I."

"I'm not sure how I'm going to proceed." He admitted after a while. "But I'm not going to run away like he wanted. I'll fight to the death if I have to."

"Tell me exactly what happened." Voldemort said, sitting straighter in his seat.

Closing his eyes, Sasha realised he was too tired to go through it all at that moment. Instead, he concentrated on disassembling the wards around his mind. "Look inside my mind; I won't stop you."

He shuddered involuntarily as he felt Voldemort's consciousness slip through his inactive defences and delve into his memories. It took a lot of effort for Sasha to stay complacently still at the intrusion, the desire to push the mind away was almost compulsive.

He managed to stay motionless and soon the memories came to the forefront of his mind as Voldemort flashed through them. It was better that he knew exactly what happened; there would be less need for long discussion and they could move on quickly from this.

Sasha sat quietly, waiting patiently for the Dark Lord to finish with his thoughts. When he did, Voldemort sat back in his chair and hummed. Sasha watched him silently.

"I can understand your unease." Voldemort said eventually.

Sasha nodded.

"And again, I must say 'Bravo' on your success. That plan truly was a triumph on your part. I particularly enjoyed the part with the basilisk. A clever addition to be sure. But tell me, how is it that you were able to control the creature? You and I both know you are not a parselmouth."

Shaking his head, Sasha said, "You know everything I do; you saw what happened. You saw how I was led to the chamber. It doesn't make any more sense to me than it does to you."

Voldemort accepted his response with a nod, thoughtful. He stayed quiet until a slight quirk rose on his lips. "The basilisk truly was the perfect component. It was almost poetic. Dumbledore should be quaking in his boots about now." He finished gleefully.

Behind his hand, Sasha tried to stifle an involuntary yawn. He failed and Voldemort noticed. Sighing, the Dark Lord said, "You are tired. Get some rest. We will continue this tomorrow."

Pleased at the dismissal but aware that if he didn't ask he would be kept awake, Sasha said, "But what of my punishment?"

Voldemort looked down at the desk. Beside his wand, the Philosopher's Stone sat. He looked back at Sasha who was pale and exhausted looking but otherwise in one piece. He made a decision. "You have done well. And, as you said, you were not yourself. This time, we can forgo the punishment."

Sasha sagged in relief. "Thank you." He said.

"But know this; if you think you will ever get this leniency again, you are sorely mistaken. The next time you mess up, you will wish you were never born. I will not exonerate you twice."

Sasha nodded, stood up and made to leave but stopped as he thought of something. "Not even if I win you this war?" He asked with a quick grin.

Voldemort sighed. "Do that, and perhaps I will be willing to negotiate."

Smiling, Sasha said, "Goodnight, my Lord."

"Goodnight Sasha." Voldemort replied grudgingly with a dismissing wave of his hand.

...

{Enochian Prophecies}

...

Hogwarts was silent.

Without noise to fill its halls, chattering students to walk its corridors or industrious professors to fill its classrooms, Hogwarts was an eerie place. Like an old abandoned building, the air hung stale within, a state of hibernation until it was used once more or demolished all together.

It was empty without the people. A shell, a ghost, a facade. In moments of complete disuse, Hogwarts was dead.

Perhaps this would be what would happen should Voldemort ever come to power? Perhaps such a tragedy should be motive enough for people to fight against the Dark Lord? Dumbledore pondered this as he alone moved through the school. He too, would leave the building as soon as he manoeuvred his way through the vast array of corridors.

He had an appointment to keep and could not miss it—even if it meant abandoning his beloved Hogwarts for the duration.

Moving outside, Dumbledore stepped into the brightness of the day. Sunrays overwhelmed his old eyes and he was momentarily blinded by the change in light, but they adjusted quickly and he did not slow.

Walking through the courtyard, Dumbledore did not pay attention to the skies which were a vibrant blue; an unusual occurrence so early in the year. He did not notice the mildness of the day or the fact that there was a tiny wren sitting atop of the wall, chirping merrily along with the good weather.

No, Albus Dumbledore did not notice any of these things. All he saw was that which was laid out before him.

Set up on the lawns in front of the lake was a small stage and a podium. All white. Facing that was what must have been a thousand chairs, lined up in an orderly fashion. They too were white.

The students were all down there. The staff too. There were reporters from every English newspaper—and some from further afield—even though none were invited. Up front sat the parents and guardians of the poor children who had been murdered so heartlessly only days ago.

This was their funeral.

Out for everyone to see were pictures of those thirteen students. There were no bodies at the ceremony because only a few had been found and none had been found whole. It would have been obscene to put such a hideous crime on display for the flashing cameras. And he would not allow that.

More than anything in the whole world, Dumbledore did not want to do this. He wished beyond all measure that he could turn back time and prevent such a crime. Or that he had fought harder, beaten the basilisk quicker—or at least not have let it escape.

He closed his eyes in defeat.

The Forbidden Forest had the beast now. It was probably dead; it had been heavily wounded when he lost its trail and there were plenty of creatures in the forest that would be happy to prey on an injured basilisk. Still, there was always that nagging feeling he had that perhaps it survived and escaped from its punishment.

He couldn't accept that. If he believed that, he had failed the children and their families. He needed to know what had killed his students could do no more damage. It was the nearest thing to feeling vengeful he had ever experienced. It was not a welcome feeling, but neither was the overwhelming grief or loss.

Dumbledore's steps made no sound on the grass as he travelled towards the podium, but somehow everyone seemed to sense his presence and turn towards him. The cameras flashed, the reporters flung needy questions, the students looked up at him for guidance, the staff for orders and the parents for answers.

Certain he looked as grave as he felt, Dumbledore walked by them all and climbed up onto the stage. He stood behind the podium, standing tall, because even in such dire times as these, people needed a strong leader and he was the only Light Lord in the country. He needed to be strong for the ones he cared about and loved.

He spoke to the masses.

"There are no words," He said, "to describe the pain and suffering felt here today. No words to account for what we have lost. How can I do justice to the sheer magnitude of what has happened, of what has been done, by mere words? Some things go beyond our verbal abilities; this is one of those things.

"Each one of these students was special, unique. They were a credit to Hogwarts and we were honoured to have each and every one of them. As headmaster, I have seen a great many people pass through this school. Over the years I have learned to see the beauty in every individual, the brilliance that lies beneath the surface of all students.

"Even though some did not excel academically, each one of them was talented in their own way. They were all beautiful and pure and what happened to them was monstrous. They did not deserve this; they did not provoke it, or expect it. They were innocent in every sense of the word.

"They were not soldiers, not influential people or ministry workers. They were children. Young and full of life. This was the work of a coward, not a terrorist. Only a coward would do what was done. And I vow to not rest until the coward responsible for this abhorrent act is held accountable for what he has done."

Dumbledore stopped then to let the heinousness of the crime sink in. He took a long look around at all the people, starting from the back and working his way up to the front, where the suffering families sat.

He was not surprised by the many tearful faces he saw. The pained expressions and lost looks were something Dumbledore had expected to find.

What he hadn't expected to see was two empty seats in the very first row. The white of the chairs were a shocking contrast to the black robes and dresses worn by everyone else attending. It caught Dumbledore off guard and he barely managed to stop himself flinching. He was aghast to think someone would not arrive for their own child's funeral. Which of those poor, thirteen children had no family here today to commemorate them?

He shook himself out of his shock and continued speaking.

"But this is not a day for vengeance. Today we have gathered here in remembrance. I remember each one of them fondly, but whereas I knew them as a headmaster, their classmates knew them as friends. In light of this, I would like to invite the friends and family up to share their memories or thoughts about their loved ones. Thank you."

He motioned for an assembly of determined students to step up onto the stage and speak. They did. Some of the families did too; all of them giving their gratitude to Dumbledore and sharing funny, sad and sometimes inspiring stories.

There were a few laughs and a great many tears.

It lasted a long time; all the students were eager to be heard and to tell their stories.

Marietta Edgecombe spoke at length about Cho Chang. Ernie Macmillan talked of Halwyn Stump, a fellow Hufflepuff. Vesta Towler cried through her attempt at commemorating her best friend Nigel Wolpert. In Slytherin, Fergus Cowley shared his memories of his duelling partner, Maynard Hatton.

By the end, half of Hogwarts had stood up and announced something about someone. Hermione, Neville and Ron had all spoken about Sasha. They had been surprised when Luna Lovegood had done so as well, airily saying that he may turn up yet.

Hermione had looked like she wanted to pummel Luna for saying something like that. Although Sasha had gone missing two days previous to the attack, it was presumed he had been the first victim of the basilisk.

The very last person to make it up onto the stage went up to speak about Sasha too. Rubeus Hagrid blubbered his way through a sentence and a half before he could continue no longer and had to excuse himself.

Albus Dumbledore liked to think he had a good notion about what went on in his school. Usually, he believed he did, but he hadn't realised just how close Hagrid had grown to Sasha Kamenev. Hagrid had spoken highly about the boy, certainly and he had hinted that he helped Hagrid out sometimes with looking after some of his many creatures. Somehow though, Dumbledore had missed the extent of the fondness between the two.

Looking back over to the two empty chairs in the front, Dumbledore realised then that was the place where Sasha Kamenev's parents were supposed to be sitting. He shook his head, unable to understand the reasoning behind it. Yes, he had been informed of the family's situation, but some things were worth coming out of hiding for and Hogwarts was as safe a place as any.

Standing up, Dumbledore returned to the podium. Everyone else had left the stage and once more it was up to him to speak. As he opened his mouth, he happened to look up towards Hogwarts. There, standing just outside the courtyard was a figure in a black cloak. So far away, Dumbledore couldn't see any defining features but he knew who it was.

He just about caught the nod from the dark figure as it slipped into the castle and out of sight. Dumbledore turned back to the crowd, quickly searching to see if anyone had followed his eye line and caught what he had been looking at. No one had, they were all looking his way, waiting for him to speak. That was good. He was safe.

Dumbledore gave his closing speech. He delivered it eloquently and with the renewed promise that he would do everything in his power to bring closure to the families. When he finished, Dumbledore left the stage and spoke with a few people, every now and then glancing back up to the castle.

Finally, without seeming rude, he slipped away from the crowds and hurried back into the school where he knew the cloaked person would be waiting for him impatiently.